


Dragonborn: The First and The Last

by AelaLachance97



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon Divergence, Dragonborn DLC, Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-09 03:24:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19880824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AelaLachance97/pseuds/AelaLachance97
Summary: Alduin has been slain and the dragon threat over Skyrim has been stopped, and the Dragonborn has finally settled down with her partner in crime and lover. But when her partner goes missing on a scouting mission to Solstheim following a mysterious cultist attack, it's up to Rythash to journey to the isle to find him and discover some answers of her own.





	1. False Dragonborn

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really sorry about that summary. I'm just no good with them.
> 
> So, a little preface: This story is more meant for those familiar with my characters. I WILL be posting more fics that take place before this in the future, but for now this is what I have the muse to write i.e. this is going to be part of a series, but the parts are going to be posted out of order as I find the muse to write them.
> 
> Now, with that out of the way, please enjoy my meager attempts at writing!

_4E 202, 13th of Second Seed_

Breezehome is quiet in the morning.

Not a sound stirs in the small home aside from the quiet creak of settling wood and foundation, not even the crackle of the hearth that has burned out in the night. Even the air is still, yet it has a crispness to it largely associated with Skyrim; the slight bite of frost that cools the stone floors of the lower level and clings to the wood that makes up the rest of the home. 

In the upstairs quarters, a form stirs in the bed. The furs rustle quietly a moment, illuminated by the gray light seeping through the slats serving as windows, then a head of short, messy, sandy brown hair peeks out from under the covers.

Rythash yawns, squeezing her eyes closed tightly while bringing a hand up to rub at her face, pausing to dig her fingers into the corners of her eyes to scratch away the remnants of sleep. Her eyes open for just a moment, barely long enough to gauge the time from the color of the sunlight, and then they close again as she slowly curls up under the furs once more, relishing in the soft warmth. 

_Just five more minutes,_ the Redguard silently reasons. She has every intention of just staying in bed for that duration, too, until she feels light movement behind her.

There’s a pause, and for a moment Rythash believes her company has only shifted in their slumber before she feels a warm arm snake itself around her waist, pulling her back into an equally warm chest and holding her there tightly, almost protectively. Another pause stretches into the silence before a light, breathy chuckle can be heard, a puff of breath warming the back of her neck briefly.

“Good morning,” Faurin rasps, his voice still thick from a night of disuse, his words slightly accented as the veil of sleep hovers over him as well.

Rythash huffs. “Mornin’,” she mumbles, not bothering to open her eyes at all, instead shifting to turn toward the Bosmer and snuggle closer to him, curling just a little more while burying her face into his chest. She huffs once more at the sound of another short laugh, her brows furrowing in a parody of frustration. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“I’m not, love,” comes Faurin’s voice, more awake-sounding now but still just as quiet as before, a hint of gentleness to it.

“You are,” she breathes, though her voice holds no accusatory tone, instead seeming as if she’s only teasing him, her deep brown eyes opening and peeking upward in hopes of catching a glimpse of the smile she loves. She’s not disappointed, for just as she looks up she is graced with the sight of Faurin’s lips pulled up at the corners, the scars on the right side of his mouth crinkling. Rythash smiles in return before giving a small sound in the back of her throat when his lips meet her forehead.

“We should really get up,” the Bosmer murmurs against her skin, his voice no longer holding the subtle hint of his accent. He brings his hand over to rub her side gently before he shifts as if about to sit up. He pauses, however, upon hearing her quiet whine.

“Do we _have_ to?” Her voice is much like that of a child who has been told to do their chores, and yet holding a hint of something that seems to be trying to entice her love to stay in bed a while longer. She huffs upon seeing the subtle movement of Faurin’s head, a small nod as an apologizing smile makes its way into his features.

“I’m afraid so,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly as his eyes find hers. “We have errands to run today, remember? If we put them off another day, we won’t have food for supper tonight.” He pauses before a small chuckle makes itself known, an eyebrow arching ever so slightly at the Redguard’s forming pout. Finally, the elf leans forward slightly, pressing a light kiss to Rythash’s lips with an air of finality about him before speaking quietly once more. “I’m going to get breakfast ready. You may join me, or you can stay in bed all day; your choice, love.” With that, the Bosmer shifts to sit up, arching his back in a stretch before standing and turning to the set of drawers next to his side of the bed.

Rythash would be lying if she said she didn’t allow her eyes to linger on him, taking in his form appreciatively as he rummages around in the now open drawer for a shirt, her eyes roaming along the lines and muscles of his back. She doesn’t even look away when his gaze finds her again, instead locking eyes with him and giving him a coy grin, not at all ashamed in her self indulgence. She laughs at the shake of his head, calling out a ‘you know you love me!’ after him as he finally makes his way to the door, and she just barely catches an amused mutter before Faurin exits their bedroom.

Grinning to herself, the Redguard woman snuggles back down into bed under the layers of furs, curling up once more before giving a content sigh. She closes her eyes, fingers curling into the covers as she snuggles down into the bed she now has to herself. She lays like that for a time, almost drifting off once again until the smell of something savory catches her attention. 

Almost as if on cue, her stomach rumbles.

After a quiet, somewhat reluctant sigh, Rythash sits up, allowing the covers to drop from her shoulders before eventually pushing them back entirely. She slides to the edge of the bed, yawning widely, then stands and begins rifling through her own bedside set of drawers, pulling out a pair of trousers and slipping them on. Combing her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame the mess, the Redguard finally makes her way out of the bedroom, carefully descending the stairs as a small smile makes its way onto her face at the scene that greets her.

Faurin is bent over the cooking pot over the central fireplace, ladling what appears to be some sort of oatmeal - one spotted with vegetables and small cubes of meat - into two wooden bowls. He turns his head only slightly at her approach, still occupied by his task a moment longer before turning to her and smiling warmly, offering her one of the now steaming bowls of food and a spoon. With murmured thanks and pause for a quick kiss - which she has to stand on her toes to accomplish - the Redguard settles into one of the chairs near the fire and eagerly tucks into her meal, seeming to finally realize just how hungry she is. 

It isn’t long before her elf joins her, taking the open seat and settling into his own meal. The two eat in an amiable silence - which is occasionally broken by Rythash’s quiet noises of approval and Faurin’s answering chuckles. The Redguard offers to take both bowls once the two have finished, using a nearby cloth to wipe them out thoroughly before returning them to the shelf along with their other dishes. When she turns back, Faurin is already pulling his boots on.

Rythash tilts her head, watching him a moment before mimicking his movements, grabbing her own set of leather boots and pulling them on. They both stand at the same time and move toward the set of hooks near the door, each grabbing their respective cloaks and Rythash making sure to take up her sword and strap it to her hip. The pair both retrieve their coinpurses, and eventually, the Redguard looks to her partner.

“So, where do we need to go today?” She vaguely remembers Faurin telling her before of this small outing, but her memory does not serve her well this morning.

The Bosmer tilts his head, watching her quietly a moment before speaking up. “We need to stop at Anoriath’s stall to pick up some fresh meats,” he explains, moving to the door and opening it, nodding toward the outside as if allowing Rythash to go first. “A look around Carlotta’s wares wouldn’t hurt either; we’re a little low on fruits and vegetables. And _I_ -” He pauses a moment, making sure to close and lock the door to their home once they’re both out onto the street. “- need to make a trip to Arcadia’s Cauldron. I’m low on components.”

Rythash’s nose scrunches up at the mention of the alchemist’s shop. She’s never been a fan of that place, though whether it’s because she didn’t understand alchemy or because of the strong smell of the establishment’s wares, she isn’t quite sure. “Well,” she begins, stooping to pick up the woven basket near the door and settling the handle in the crook of her elbow. “ _You_ can go ahead to Arcadia’s, then. _I’ll_ get everything we need from the market stalls.”

She’s met with a quiet and slightly amused ‘of course’ as she turns and grins at Faurin, followed by another equally quiet ‘go on, then.’ A small laugh bubbles up in the back of her throat before she pauses to kiss her elf quickly, then begins briskly heading toward the Whiterun market.

The stalls and surrounding area are just beginning to come alive, the quiet chatter of residents as they shop filling the otherwise quiet morning air. Many turn to greet Rythash with smiles or words as she passes, and she returns them somewhat awkwardly - she still isn’t used to all the attention despite roughly a year having passed since her becoming Dragonborn and Alduin’s fall.

 _Has it really been that long?_ She ponders silently as she continues to walk, giving a quiet ‘mhm’ to Faurin when he calls that he’ll be as quick as he can at Arcadia’s. It has, she decides, though she can’t help the small amount of surprise that floods her mind. It feels like it had been just yesterday, if she’s going to be honest. The events don’t seem to be an entire year behind her, and yet they are. Merely a year ago Skyrim was at risk of destruction, and merely a year ago she and her now-fiance had put a stop to it, effectively becoming heroes. Well, _she_ became a hero. Faurin would deny everything he did to help in favor of retreating back into the shadows, unseen and unknown.

It’s only when she bumps into someone that Rythash realizes she’s drifted into her thoughts. She gives a nervous laugh and apologizes quickly before sighing, shoving her deeper thoughts to the back of her mind and continuing on her task at hand: stocking up on food for the next few days.

She grins upon coming to Anoriath’s stall, greeting the Bosmer as enthusiastically as he greets her. “Good morning! I’d like a few cuts of your freshest stock, please,” she explains, her grin softening into a more manageable smile. While Anoriath begins preparing her request, the Redguard glances about, breathing in the cool morning air and lifting her head toward the sky as the warmth of the sun finally begins to peek through the clouds and early morning mist. Something, however, feels… off. The mostly peaceful morning holds an air of uneasiness to it, though Rythash has a difficult time pinpointing why.

Her attention returns to the stallkeep in front of her after a moment as three rather large cuts of meat are handed to her over the counter of the stall. The grin returns to her features as she gives thanks, placing each cut carefully into her basket before digging into her coinpurse and pulling out the handful of Septims needed to pay for the lot. With a nod, she turns on her heel and heads toward Carlotta’s stall next, albeit a bit more slowly compared to her previously brisk pace.

The feeling of unease follows her.

Finally, Rythash takes another glance around, much more carefully this time, taking in each face as it passes. Nothing seems immediately out of the ordinary…

Wait.

In the shadows of the overhang of the alchemy shop and the general store, she sees them. Two figures, one much larger than the other, clad in deep brown robes looking to be made of a mishmash of cloth, leather and what appears to be bone, cowls drawn up over their heads and obscuring their faces. She’s never seen them before, and the sight of the cause of her unease puts the Redguard on edge. 

Quickly, she averts her gaze and distractedly makes her way toward the other food stall in the marketplace. Rythash offers Carlotta a smile, making quiet, albeit distracted smalltalk with her a moment before requesting the needed items - a few apples, some carrots, a head of cabbage, and a few potatoes. Her thoughts, however, wander back to the figures as she’s handed the requested foodstuffs. 

Were they priests? _No_ , she thinks, shaking her head just slightly. They can’t be. She’s seen priests of the Divines in all the major cities, and none of them dress quite like _that_. Travelers, then? Perhaps. Travelers in Skyrim come in many shapes and sizes, although… Few come through as uniform-looking as the figures she observed. She continues to ponder a moment, absently thanking Carlotta before giving an audible gasp when a hand comes into contact with her shoulder.

“You’re being watched.”

The surge of fear goes as quickly as it came at the voice in her ear. Sighing, she turns to look at Faurin before nodding, murmuring an equally quiet ‘I know.’ Rythash almost questions the seemingly random kiss to her cheek - he isn’t one to suddenly show affection in tense situations - before she realizes what he’s doing. They don’t want to let the figures know they’re aware of their presence.

“Come.”

A hand at the small of her back urges her to turn and walk forward, and the pair begins walking down the streets back toward their home. She begins to protest at first - why would they let the shady figures know where they live before something dawns on her: Faurin hadn’t grabbed his bow before leaving the house. Should a scuffle arise, they would both need to be prepared, for neither of the two watching her seemed friendly at all.

It doesn’t take long to get home from the market. Rythash pauses nervously as Faurin deftly pulls out the key to their home and unlocks the door in a few swift movements, and the two step inside quickly. Shakily setting her basket aside, the Redguard bounces on her feet apprehensively, watching her elf as he disappears into the back room of the house a moment before emerging a few minutes later, his supplies no longer in hand and his bow and quiver strapped to his back and his dagger at his hip. He meets with her by the door once again, watching her as if silently asking when they should go out again and, with a nod from Rythash, opens the door slowly just enough for them both to step out.

She stifles a surprised gasp upon seeing the two shadowy figures making their way down the street right toward them, her hand immediately dropping to rest on the hilt of her sword. A surge of surprise washes over her briefly as, despite her fears, the figures almost seem to be aiming to walk right by her and Faurin before they stop suddenly, turning on their heels to face the Redguard and Bosmer. Rythash narrows her eyes, opening her mouth to speak before the larger of the figures beats her to it.

“You there.” The decidedly masculine voice rings out clear in the quiet morning, deep and foreboding. “You’re the one they call Dragonborn?”

_Oh no._

Rythash almost outwardly sighs. Conversations starting with someone shady asking about her Dragonborn status never end well. She can actually count on one hand the times it ended positively.

She feels Faurin edge closer to her, his arm brushing hers lightly before he speaks as well. 

“Who is asking?”

The Redguard has to suppress a shudder at the sound of her partner’s voice. What was usually a warm and quiet tone is now icy and harsh, so much like it was long ago when they’d first met. The sound of it makes her glance to him, and his expression is hard and emotionless, his dark eyes fixed on the larger figure.

Aforementioned figure scoffs and what Rythash can see of his mouth in the shadow of his hood twists into a scowl. “Our business is with the woman, elf.” He turns to her once more. “Are you what they are calling Dragonborn? Answer me.”

She narrows her eyes, her jaw clenching at the command. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she growls, fingers curling around her sword’s hilt.

The smaller figure suddenly speaks up, a feminine voice dripping with venom. “Your lies fall on deaf ears, Deceiver!” she spits, stepping forward boldly. “We know you are the False Dragonborn! You shall not stand in the way of the true Dragonborn's return.”

Wait, what?

Despite the evident confusion on Rythash’s face, the woman continues. “He comes soon, and we shall offer him your heart! When Lord Miraak appears all shall bear witness. None shall stand to oppose him!"

The Redguard barely has any time to take in this information, for as soon as she’s done speaking, the smaller figure draws a dagger, the morning sun glinting off the metal.

And it’s aimed straight for her throat.


	2. The Mysterious Note

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action scenes are hard

The attack hardly makes it close enough to Rythash to do her harm, Faurin leaping into action, drawing his dagger and meeting the smaller enemy’s attack head on with a snarl. The screech of metal colliding with metal snaps the Redguard into action as she draws her sword and readies herself, and not a moment too soon for the minute her weapon is drawn the larger figure is upon her with his own knife. 

She catches the assault with her sword, another horrid shriek of metal against metal as her sword meets her assailant’s dagger. With the attack caught, she brings a foot up and delivers a hefty kick to the man’s torso, effectively shoving him backwards to give herself a little more room to move. Without hesitation, she swings her sword in a wide arc, being mindful of her companion’s tussle nearby, and aims to slash at the larger figure’s chest. Still reeling from her kick, the man has no time to react as her blade tears through his robes and slices at his skin, earning a decently loud cry of pain.

Rythash feels a twinge of satisfaction at the blow, watching as the man stumbles back with a hand clutching his chest in a meager attempt to stanch the bleeding. Beside her, the scuffle between Faurin and the smaller robed figure slows to a halt, the end of it punctuated by a strangled cry from the female. The Redguard glances over quickly in time to see her elf apprehending the woman, holding her tightly with her arms behind her back despite her violent struggles. With the threat of a second attack coming at her aside, Rythash turns to the larger figure once more, readying her blade just as he lunges at her.

The ringing of metal permeates the air as the man’s dagger clashes against her sword once more. With a growl, Rythash finally take a moment to speak. “Who are you? Who are you working for?” she asks with clenched teeth, stepping forward in an attempt to overpower her enemy. 

He barks a laugh, mouth twisted into a snarl of pure hatred. “That information does not concern you, Deceiver!” he spits out, sliding his blade away from her sword to break the contact, sending them both stumbling. “Now die!” He arcs his blade toward her just as his companion did, albeit a bit stiffly due to the wound blossoming with blood on his chest. His blow, however, never lands.

With a yelp of pain, the larger figure reels to the left, his hand coming up to grasp at his ribs where an arrow is now embedded into his flesh. The Redguard turns her head quickly, readying her blade for another attack before immediately lowering it once more upon seeing a group of about five city guards approaching, two ready with bows and arrows nocked, the other three with swords and shields at the ready.

“Dragonborn,” the one in the lead greets as they draw closer, his attention on his comrades as they sheathe their weapons and move to apprehend the two robed figures before looking to Rythash.. 

She sighs quietly, her shoulders losing their attention as she murmurs a low ‘about time…’ under her breath, then looks to the guard while sheathing her own weapon. “Guardsman.” She nods in greeting, still keeping her hand on her blade’s hilt as a precaution. “Thank you for your help.”

He nods as well. “Not a problem; it’s our job, after all.” Eventually, his attention turns to the now struggling assailants, regarding them with an air of disdain. “And you two,” he barks, voice suddenly becoming firm and professional. “What is the meaning of this?”

There’s no answer from them. They cease their struggling, seeming to finally realize they aren’t getting anywhere and, though she can’t see their faces, Rythash can practically feel the glares resonating from under the shadows of their cowls.

“Not talking, hm?” The guard seems less than thrilled, crossing his arms over his chest before nodding in the direction of the marketplace and the rest of Whiterun. “Maybe a few nights in jail will do you both some good, then. Unless…” He turns to the Rythash and Faurin, studying them both before speaking once more. “Do you have any further business with them?”

She nearly declines before Faurin interjects, stepping a little closer.

“I don’t believe we do,” he mutters to the guard, just barely loud enough to hear. “However, I would like their belongings delivered to us; weapons, pouches, anything on their person that isn’t their clothing. Can that be done?”

There’s a pause. The guards all look at each other as if silently repeating the question to one another before one finally speaks up.

“Yes, ah… Yes, sir, we can do that.” The one who speaks seems nervous, his voice sounds a bit younger than the guard who had spoken previously. _Must be new,_ Rythash thinks before looking to her companion once more.

“Good.” Faurin nods in satisfaction, his expression still just as stony as it had been earlier. “Be on your way, then. I believe we’re finished with these two.”

Rythash, once again, almost protests. _She_ isn’t quite finished with them. In fact, she would much rather deal with them herself; the one blow she got in wasn’t quite enough to be satisfactory. However, upon receiving a knowing look from the Bosmer standing next to her, she deflates just a little, instead moving to cross her arms over her chest to keep her hands occupied. 

The guards not holding the robed figures pause in something of a salute before swiftly turning and walking away down the street, the two holding the attackers following quickly behind. 

Watching them go, Rythash sighs quietly and looks to her elf, chewing her lip almost nervously at noticing his expression has not changed at all since the attack started. When she speaks, her voice is quiet, almost as if she’s attempting to soothe him a bit. “Should we… Head inside?” she murmurs, stepping a little closer to him while making sure he has time to prepare for her movement.

To her relief, his expression immediately softens upon hearing her, and he turns to look at her. A small, almost apologetic smile makes its way into his features before he nods slowly. “Yes, we can head inside now,” he says quietly, his expression flickering with the hardness from earlier after a moment. “We have much to take in.”

The Redguard gives a low ‘mhm’ in agreement before turning toward their home, walking toward the door and reaching out for the handle. She opens the door wide, stepping side so her companion can go in first, then wanders in after him, closing the door quietly behind her with a sigh. She leans back heavily against the wood, her fingers drumming on the surface briefly before she makes a move toward the chairs near the central fireplace, flopping down into one as her elf takes a seat in the other, placing his bow and quiver on the floor next to his chair.

The silence isn’t quite as amiable as it had been earlier that morning. Faurin sits hunched forward on the edge of his seat, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands folded together tightly and pressed against his mouth. Rythash knows this position well. 

“Who were those people?” she asks in an attempt to coax him into voicing his thoughts, her voice seemingly too loud in the quiet room. She’s answered with a shaking head, though dark eyes do not meet hers this time. Her next question almost dies in her throat. “They… They weren’t Brotherhood… Were they?”

“No,” comes the immediate, though slightly muffled answer. There’s no elaboration, however. Faurin merely remains silent after that one word, staring into the flickering embers of the hearth pensively. No, that’s not quite true. Upon listening closer, she realizes he’s muttering to himself. 

The seconds stretch into minutes before Rythash finds her voice again. “Faurin…?” Finally, the elf looks to her, pausing in his murmuring to regard her quietly. She relaxes a little at seeing a small apologetic smile creep into his features.

“Apologies,” he mumbles, just loud enough for her to hear while moving his hands away from his mouth. “A lot has happened this morning, I am just trying to go over it all. And possibly figure out _why_ this has happened.”

The Redguard nods in understanding, returning the small smile before speaking lowly. “Yeah, I think I’m in the same situation,” she admits, crossing her ankles and bringing a hand down to drum her fingers on her knee distractedly. A few thoughts flurry through her mind before landing on one particular thing. “Deceiver…” Her voice is barely a mumble, but the cant of Faurin’s head suggests that he’s heard her.

“Yes, I was wondering about that myself,” he says, voice suggesting that he’s still somewhat in thought. Anything else about to be said, however, is interrupted by a swift knock at their door.

She can practically feel Faurin’s apprehension spike as his gaze locks on the door, so with a quiet ‘I’ll get it’ she stands and makes her way over, twisting the handle and opening the door just enough to peer out. “Yes?”

Outside stands a lone guard with a sack in hand. “The properties of the two that attacked you, ma’am.” The voice is one she recognizes; the younger guard that had spoken earlier. Once the door is opened a fair amount, he offers the sack to her. “Everything is there, except their clothes, as ordered.”

Rythash offers a small smile and a nod in thanks, attempting to suppress a small laugh at the guard’s eager salute before he marches off in the direction of what she assumes is the barracks. Once he’s gone, she closes the door quietly and turns to Faurin, who is curiously regarding the bag of items in her hand. She holds it up and offers a slight grin in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Their stuff is here.” 

“So it would appear.” 

Her elf still seems a little tense, but she can see that he isn’t hunching anymore and his hands are clasped lightly in his lap now. He motions to the seat next to his, and she obliges, walking over and taking a seat before eagerly loosening the tie on the sack. If anything would give her answers, this would surely be it.

And yet, she’s a little disappointed.

The items she digs out - two daggers, two pouches of coin, an amulet, and three rings - do absolutely nothing to tell her of who those people are, what they’re doing in Whiterun, and, most importantly, why they attacked her out of the blue like that shouting about some ‘Deceiver.’ A noise of frustration escapes her as she turns the amulet over in her hands before tossing it onto the table between them for Faurin to inspect.

“This doesn’t tell us _anything_ ,” she groans, sitting back in her seat to the point of almost sliding downward due to lack of support. Next to her, Faurin is nearly silent as he carefully picks over each item, turning the rings over, digging through each coinpurses, and running his fingers over the amulet. Eventually, he looks to her, eyes somewhat questioning.

“Is that all that was in there?” His voice isn’t skeptical but Rythash is somewhat offended anyway. She makes a show of grabbing the empty bag, turning it to hold it upside down before shaking it a few times for effect. Except… It’s not empty.

A folded piece of parchment falls from the interior of the sack, floating to the ground in arcs and seemingly on a path to the hearth. Her heart leaps a moment as she swears loudly, but her fear is instantly put to rest as Faurin snatches the paper from the air just before it can come into contact with the reaching flames of the fireplace. The Redguard offers him a sheepish grin, murmuring a quiet ‘guess not’ in response to his earlier question. The answering chuckle makes her stick her tongue out at him.

With a slow, amused shake of his head, the Bosmer finally turns his attention to the parchment in his hands, carefully unfolding it to reveal the scrawling writing inside. Rythash leans in as close as she’s able, though not close enough to see what the writing says. However, Faurin’s slowly deepening frown tells her that the contents aren’t good at all. Not that she expected them to be, but for something to trouble her elf so quickly…

Suddenly the parchment is held out to her, and she nearly startles backward a bit before glancing to Faurin. He isn’t looking at her again, his gaze instead locked on the hearth like before, his expression just as pensive as earlier. She can almost feel a pit in her stomach. Is it that bad? With a deep breath in and out, the Redguard slowly takes the offered note, using her thumb to hold it open where it’s been creased, and begins to read silently.

_Board the vessel Northern Maiden docked at Raven Rock. Take it to Windhelm, then begin your search. Kill the False Dragonborn known as Rythash before she reaches Solstheim._

_Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased._

Rythash’s heart nearly skips a beat. 

Her eyes lift from the writing to look over at Faurin, who she realizes is now watching her intently as if gauging her reaction. So she doesn’t hide anything, expressing the worry that she knows he can sense on her. These weren’t just any old hired thugs, were they? No, something bigger had to be going on here. Where is Raven Rock? What does the note mean by ‘False Dragonborn?’ And…

“Who in Oblivion is Miraak?”

The question rings out in the near silence of the house’s main room, and for a moment she fears she won’t receive an answer at all. Just as she begins to look back to the parchment between her fingers, Faurin speaks up.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles, eyes finally meeting hers. “I’ve never heard the name before, but… Doesn’t it sound at least a little familiar to you?”

Rythash deadpans a moment. “No. That’s why I asked _you._ ”

He shakes his head, giving a laugh that sounds like it’s somewhere between amused and exasperated. “Not what I meant,” he explains. “I meant, doesn’t the _sound_ of it seem familiar? The word itself, the syllables…”

She almost turns down the question a second time before pausing a moment. Now that he mentioned it…

“Dragonspeak.” Her voice is nearly a whisper as she looks to her partner for confirmation. His nod solidifies her thought, but… something still feels off. “Would a dragon send hired hands after me, though? I mean, why not just fly down and fight me itself?”

Faurin is quiet a moment, seemingly thinking silently before piping up once more. “I don’t think it’s a dragon, Ry. The name isn’t long enough; most have three syllables - or words - right?” Now that she thinks about it, he’s right. Par-thur-naax. Al-du-in. O-dah-viing. She nods, and Faurin continues. “Perhaps… a priest? They are often named using dovahzul.”

Rythash shakes her head. “All the dragon priests are dead, though… At least, all the ones we’ve fought have been.”

The Bosmer sighs and nods slowly, folding his hands tightly and pressing them to his mouth like earlier with a mumbled ‘true…’ The silence stretches a few more moments before he speaks just a little louder. “Well. We have a lead, at least.” He gestures with his head toward the piece of parchment still in her hand. “It mentioned Solstheim. Raven Rock, more specifically.”

She tilts her head curiously. “You know where that is?” In truth, she has never heard either name before. A nod from her companion confirms that he does, though something about his demeanor seems a little… odd. Like he’s considering something or weighing options.

Faurin moves his hands from his mouth, not quite making eye contact with her now, but he speaks quietly. “I do. Solstheim is an island to the northeast of Skyrim. Raven Rock is its capital.” He pauses, eyes flicking to her briefly. “As the note implies, you can sail there from the docks at Windhelm.”

“Looks like we’re off to Windhelm, then.” The Redguard folds the note once more and shoves it into the pocket of her trousers, standing abruptly and stretching. She’s just about to go upstairs to fetch her armor before pausing at hearing her name amidst the silence in the room. Giving a quiet ‘mhm?’ in return, she turns her head slightly to show that she’s listening.

“Ry, I…” He trails off as if still considering something heavily, his brow furrowed slightly and his mouth drawn. Slowly, quietly he speaks up again. “Ry… _I’m_ going to Windhelm. _You’re_ staying here.”

_What?_

Silence stretches between the two of them, the air far less friendly and comforting than it had been before, and it takes her a moment to realize she had hissed the word out loud. Brows coming together as her eyes narrow, Rythash whirls to face Faurin, her expression less than pleased.

He still doesn’t look at her. “I will be going to Windhelm, and to Solstheim to figure this all out first. You’ll be staying here. Where I know you’re safe.”

“Where you know I’m _safe_ ?” Her voice is rising in volume and pitch. “What, so you think I can’t handle myself all of a sudden?” She holds a hand up to stop him when he begins to say her name, ignoring the pleading hint to his voice. “No, I think not. We’re either in this together or not at all. You are _not_ leaving me behind-”

“Ry…”

“-to just sit here and wonder! That note mentioned _me_ specifically-”

“Rythash.”

“-and I am going to find out what this is all about whether you want me to or not! And-”

“Rythash, _listen to me._ ”

His tone nearly catches her off guard, and his abruptness in standing makes her take a step back. He sighs, and his features immediately soften now that he has her attention. Slowly, he walks toward her and, once close enough, he brings a hand up to cup her cheek gently, murmuring another almost silent ‘listen’ before continuing.

“I _know_ you can handle yourself, but _please._ ” His voice is quiet and gentle, and the sound of it almost immediately douses the flame of anger that had begun in her heart. “Just let me feel this out. I’ll go to Windhelm, I’ll find passage to Solstheim, and I’ll ask around Raven Rock. Once I have enough information, I will come straight home and get you. I’ll be gone two weeks. Three weeks at most.” 

It still doesn’t sit well with her, but… She knows he’s far more qualified for this than she. He’s better at infiltrating, at gathering information. His way would be the quickest and more efficient. In and out with all the information they would need, and then he would come for her and they would piece it all together as a team...

“Okay.” Her voice is barely a whisper now. Even after thinking it over, she can’t help but worry, but… She trusts him. She _knows_ him. “Just promise me one thing?”

He seems almost taken aback, as if her questioning isn’t even necessary. “Of course, love. Anything.”

“Be careful. Be _safe._ ” He’s going to be heading into unknown lands and, while she knows he’s always cautious, the need to make him promise to be heavily outweighs that. This is just for her peace of mind.

A small, somewhat warm smile melts into his features, crinkling his scars just a little. “Of course,” he murmurs, bringing the hand along her cheek up to brush a few strands of hair from her face before returning it to its previous position. Then he leans down and presses a light kiss to her forehead, and for a moment, everything is fine.

It’s when he pulls away finally that the worry begins to seep back into Rythash’s mind as she watches him quietly ascend the stairs to the upper level. She chews at her lower lip, a hand dropping to curl into the hem of her shirt tightly, the other also lowering to drum fingers against her thigh. Slowly, she looks to where her partner had been sitting, noting his bow and quiver still on the floor. She walks over and gingerly moves the items into his chair for easier access before looking around once more, her eyes settling on the barrels and shelves where most of their food is kept. He _would_ need food for the road between Whiterun and Windhelm…

Rythash makes her way to the barrel first where she knows there are dried meats stored, plucking a small sack from the shelf on her way there. Slowly, she opens the barrel and reaches in, carefully settling a variety of the meats into the sack until she’s satisfied that it should be enough. Closing the barrel back up once more, she makes her way to the shelves and begins plucking a variety of foodstuffs from them - a few apples, a small loaf of bread, and a couple wedges of cheese - and settles them into the sack as well. Once finished, she ties off the end of the bag to seal it and settles it next to the chair holding Faurin’s weapons. 

Not even a few moments later, the Bosmer finally emerges from the upper level, fully clad in his black leather armor and heavy cloak, his traveling pack clutched tightly in one hand and a familiar pattern of black coal now encircling his eyes and staining his lips. Had he been anyone other than her elf, Rythash would be intimidated; this was no longer just a normal wood elf. This was a rogue, an assassin of the Dark Brotherhood, a shadow in the back of taverns that none dare to speak to. The illusion, however, is broken to her once he smiles softly at her; this is her Faurin. Her love and fiance. 

She smiles in return, stepping close to him before speaking quietly. “I, ah… Packed you some food for the road. You know, just in case you get hungry when you’re between villages.”

His smile warms and he nods slowly, leaning down just a moment to kiss her cheek before moving to retrieve his weapons. She watches him as he deftly straps them to his back - the movement so practiced that it barely takes a minute - then as he stoops to pick up the small sack of food she packed for him, opening his own pack and carefully settling it into the largest pocket among his other things. Finally, he looks to her once more, seeming to hesitate a little before speaking quietly.

“I… Suppose I should get going,” he murmurs, moving to be close to her once more. “The sooner I go, the sooner I’ll be back.”

Rythash feels her heart drop a little but nods in agreement anyway, almost immediately pulling him into a tight hug, giving a quiet laugh at hearing Faurin’s low ‘oof.’ She sobers up quickly, however, and looks to him with a serious expression. “You come back to me, you hear me?” 

He matches her genuine expression and nods, wrapping an arm around her while bringing a hand up to cup her cheek gently. “Of course.” His voice is soft and sincere and his expression is warm. “I will always come back to you, my love. Always.”

Satisfied with his answer, she leans up to kiss him, closing her eyes and relishing in his touch for as long as he allows her to. He holds her tightly against him, pressing into the kiss almost desperately a moment before eventually drawing back much too soon in the Redguard’s opinion.

“I love you,” he breathes, his tone just as sincere and honest as it had been before, holding just a hint of adoration as he watches her quietly.

A small smile makes its way into her features at his words. “I love you, too,” she murmurs, standing up on her toes to kiss him once more before eventually stepping back from his embrace, her smile turning slightly bittersweet. “You’d better get going before I keep you here all day.”

He sighs and nods slowly in agreement, leaning down to kiss her one last time before taking up his pack, slinging it over his shoulder before heading toward the door. Rythash watches him go quietly before suddenly speaking up just as he starts to open the door. 

“Three weeks, right?”

Faurin pauses, turning to look at her before giving her a reassuring smile and nodding once more. “Three weeks,” he confirms. “I promise.” And with her quiet ‘okay,’ the Bosmer finally opens the door and steps out into the early afternoon, leaving Rythash alone in their home.


	3. I Told You So

_ 4E 202, 14th of Second Seed _

The first night without him is admittedly difficult.

After a little less than a year of sleeping next to him, having his side of the bed cold and empty is strange enough to actually disrupt Rythash’s sleeping habits. A night of tossing and turning later, she’s up earlier than she’s ever been on her own and decidedly not happy about it. She does, however, try to go on as she normally would, starting with a meager attempt at cooking herself breakfast.

It isn’t nearly as good as when Faurin cooks - the Redguard had never been much of a chef, choosing instead to stop at taverns for her meals during her travels. It  _ is _ filling enough, though, and after wiping down her plate and putting it away, she decides to have a day out of the house. Maybe she can find someone with a menial plight she can take care of.

If only to keep her mind off of her worrying.

  
  


_ 4E 202, 21st of Second Seed _

She’s developed a bit of a schedule now.

Wake up, make something of a pitiful breakfast, clean up, and go out. She takes odd jobs from the people of Whiterun to keep herself busy; chopping wood, picking crops, helping restock shops and stalls, anything she can find that keeps her mind occupied enough. Sometimes, if she’s lucky, the Jarl will have something for her as well like clearing out bandits, taking care of animal pests, or retrieving lost weapons. Those are her favorite jobs; they’re the most distracting.

Then, after her day is done, she heads to the tavern for dinner to avoid making a mess of the house over an attempt to cook for herself. The food at the Bannered Mare is cheap enough, and it tastes better than anything she could ever make, so she doesn’t mind. And finally, after her meal and a few drinks, she heads home to toss and turn in bed for a few hours before falling into an exhausted sleep.

_ 4E 202, 28th of Second Seed _

_ One more week, _ she tells herself.

One more week until Faurin will be home safe and sound like he promised. He  _ did _ say three weeks at the most, and so she assumes the information isn’t coming as easily as usual. Maybe the people of Solstheim don’t like outlanders, or maybe there isn’t much of a threat after all. Maybe he’s taking care of a dwindling organization right this moment…

Or maybe he’s run into trouble.

_ No,  _ she tells herself. He’s more cautious than that. He doesn’t run into trouble like she does. He’s thoughtful, and careful, and methodical. So different from her, and yet that’s why they work so well together. They balance each other almost perfectly, and...

Divines, she misses him.

  
  


_ 4E 202, 6th of Midyear _

Rythash can barely contain herself.

He should be home any time now with information on the attack, and then they can both go to Solstheim and figure this out together. And maybe she can finally get some decent sleep on top of it all.

She’s up even earlier than usual in her excitement and nervousness, and she can’t even eat due to her stomach turning in eager knots. She still goes about her day, however, running errands, helping people, and keeping general watch over the city along with the guards. Time seems to tick by so much slower than before as she watches the sky, keeping track of the sun’s position to gauge the time. The further toward the west it gets, the more her heart leaps in her chest.  _ Any time now, _ she thinks anxiously, despite the sun lowering in the sky bit by bit.

She’s thoroughly disappointed when she has to go to bed alone that night.

  
  


_ 4E 202, 13th of Midyear _

She hasn’t heard from him.

But that’s okay, right? It might just be taking a while. Rythash is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt because, well… He  _ was _ going into unknown land, after all. Maybe he got lost, or maybe he’s just taking his time to get all the information he can. Yes, that had to be it. 

He’s just being careful, though at the expense of her peace of mind.

  
  


_ 4E 202, 20th of Midyear _

Something isn’t right, and she knows it.

He would have sent word by now if the journey was taking longer than anticipated. And yet… Maybe he was okay? Maybe a courier just can’t make the expedition off the island, or maybe a letter got lost somewhere, or maybe… maybe…

_ Gods, please be okay. _

  
  


_ 4E 202, 25th of Midyear _

_ I should have known better. _

Rythash silently berates herself over and over again as she straps into her armor, trying to get control over her slightly frantic and shaky pace. She should have known. Something felt off to her the minute Faurin had suggested going on his own, and now he’s missing.

Or hurt.

_ Or dead. _

“No,” she whispers to herself. He’s not dead. He can’t be. And yet… she can’t shake the feeling that he might be in danger. It’s the only reason she can think of that he would stay away so long without word on how he’s faring. He would never just leave her in the dark like that; that isn’t how they work together.

With her armor in place, the Redguard swiftly heads out of the bedroom and to the lower level. She takes only a moment to assemble some kind of adventuring pack - food, drink, a set of clothes, some healing potions from Faurin’s stock, among other things - before bundling everything up, slinging it over her shoulder and moving toward the door leading outside. She pauses, grabbing her cloak and throwing it on before reaching down for her sword, strapping it to her hip and testing its security, then determinedly marching outside.

The afternoon sun nearly blinds her, but she doesn’t care. She squints, pausing just a moment to lock the door behind her before heading toward the main gate. She doesn’t even wait for the guards to address her, instead pushing through the gate herself, allowing it to swing shut heavily behind her before setting on her way toward the stables. 

Her thoughts overwhelm her once again as she walks briskly. What if he isn’t okay? What if he isn’t just held up and he’s hurt and alone somewhere? Hurt, bleeding out,  _ dying…  _ Divines, she  _ never  _ should have let him take this on alone, the potential benefit of scouting ahead be damned.

She shoves her thoughts aside, however, once she approaches the stables. She attempts to conceal her worried expression, instead plastering on something more stoic yet friendly as Skulvar greets her.

“That the Dragonborn I spy?” The old Nord’s voice rings out clear in the otherwise quiet surroundings as he steps up from his lounging spot to meet her. 

Rythash attempts to smile and gives him a nod in response. “Yep, it’s me. I trust my horse is doing well?” She pauses a moment, waiting for an answer. Upon receiving affirmation, she speaks up once more. “I’ll be needing him today; long journey ahead.”

Skulvar’s brows furrow a bit. “Aye, I’ll have my boy get him ready for you.” With a turn, a sharp whistle, and a nod toward the stables, the Redguard notices Jervar quickly moving to tend to the horses, leading the one belonging to her out into the corral before beginning to gear him up. She turns back to Skulvar to thank him, but her voice dies in her throat at seeing the Nord’s expression. “I saw your, eh…  _ Elf _ go riding out of here on that demon of his some few weeks ago. This journey have anything to do with that?”

She clenches her jaw slightly and nods stiffly. “Yes; I’m going looking for him. He was supposed to be back nearly a week and a half ago.”  _ And I’m fearing the worst. _ Rythash doesn’t add that last part, but it stands out prominent in her mind as her gaze lowers. Thankfully, the old Nord doesn’t press any more, merely giving a noise of acknowledgement before looking back toward the corral. She follows his gaze to see Jervar leading her horse toward them, the steed now saddled up and ready for travel. With a smile and a slip of some coin as a tip, she thanks them both before mounting the horse, situating herself and patting his neck gently to keep him calm. “Hello, old friend,” she murmurs affectionately before turning her gaze toward the two men who are now watching her with a mix of curiosity and something she can’t quite pin down.

She nods to them, thanking them once more before setting her gaze on the road ahead. With a sharp ‘hyah!’ and a quick snap of the reigns, she sets her horse off into a decent gallop along the road heading for Windhelm.


End file.
